


whoever you are now, you are home

by cuppydogcity



Category: Half-Life
Genre: ... - Freeform, Confessions, Fluff, Happy Ending, Internalized Homophobia, Longing, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Obliviousness, Pining, Slow Burn, Unrequited Love, museums!, second person pronouns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:55:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27300799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuppydogcity/pseuds/cuppydogcity
Summary: It’s late evening, the golden hour, where the sky is a deep purple and the sun is beginning to descend behind a cluster of neighboring mesas.The rays of light diffuse into his hair and cascade along his cheek.You don’t look.
Relationships: Barney Calhoun & Gordon Freeman, Barney Calhoun/Gordon Freeman
Comments: 42
Kudos: 180





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i hope you like this!! you can find me on twitter @chalicerae !! :D

You’re at an on-site pizza place, above-ground, the kind of place you’d never find outside of Black Mesa.

Your shoulders ache. Today was the bi-annual security guard training course, complete with added crouching and jumping and climbing segments. It’s almost September, but mid-summer heat still plagues you in spite of the inadequate AC.

Across the table from you is Gordon.

There are bags under his eyes - he was working self-imposed overtime yet again, so absorbed in his work that he was genuinely surprised when you knocked on his door a half hour after you told him you’d be there. Likely one last attempt to try and fix some problem or another with a complex machine you couldn’t even begin to pronounce properly, much less understand what it actually does.

It’s late evening, the golden hour, where the sky is a deep purple and the sun is beginning to descend behind a cluster of neighboring mesas.

The rays of light diffuse into his hair and cascade along his cheek, highlighting his eyes.

You don’t look.

You focus on your pizza; the sauce is too sweet and the cheese is gluey and everything leaves a greasy residue on everything it touches. It’s just the way you like it.

He yawns for the third time since you sat down, not that you’ve been counting, and takes another bite. He was never all that fond of greasy food, but it’s a Friday - pizzas are half-off, and you’d spilled the dinner you’d planned to have all over the floor.

His eyes are slightly glazed and he has a red mark on his cheek from where he’s been leaning. In contrast, his glasses are spotless.

“Barney,” he signs to you, eyes flicking from his meal to you.

“What’s up?” You say back over a mouthful of pepperoni. He doesn’t like pepperoni pizza, but he always orders it instead of cheese. He picks off the pepperonis and gives them to you every time.

You never really liked pepperoni, honestly, you’re more of a ham and pineapple guy. You’d never tell him that, though. You make sure to eat them every time.

“Are you doing anything tomorrow?” he asks.

You blink once, letting him continue.

“Can you help me move some furniture around? I bought a new table but I don’t have anywhere to put it.”

A sharp stab of disappointment is immediately chased off by something different, sharper. Of course it’s not going to be  _ that _ , are you stupid?

“Yeah, sure. What time?”

“12:30?”

“Works for me.”

The sun is almost fully set now.

You’re still not looking at him. You busy yourself by ripping up some of the napkins. They’re covered in grease from where he tried to dab some off of his pizza.

You don’t think about anything - at least, you try not to.

He finishes his food eventually. You take your shared tray and dump your garbage out. You both say your goodbyes, and take your respective tram cars home.

The labs you pass are devoid of people - everyone is either already home, or crushed into a tram car just like you. You try not to bump into the woman standing next to you, or the man swaying behind you.

You don’t think about the way Gordon wished you good luck this morning. Or the way he waved to you when the alternate tram route took you past him, or the feeling that had sparked that you’re trying not to smile at the memory of.

You instead watch the lights of each occupied dorm and lab blur as they pass the windows of the tram car. 

The tram lurches to a halt at your stop. You get off, giving a polite smile to someone whose name evades you but who always seems to get on at the same time as you.

On the breeze you catch the faint scent of woodsmoke. It’s a nostalgic smell, bringing back half-remembered camping trips and conversations. You idly wonder where your old school friends are, nowadays.

It doesn’t really matter. They’re probably busy. You think James had a kid, recently.

You try not to compare that to your dead-end security job.

Your roommate is out, again. He always is at this time of day, especially on a Friday. The fridge is humming and the clock on the oven reads 8:04 in neon green. You don’t think of Gordon.

You grab a beer from the fridge and settle onto the couch, undoing your tie.

You flip through the channels on the TV, long having given up the pretense of trying to find something interesting. The volume is low enough that it doesn’t really matter, anyway - you leave it at a rerun of an episode of a sitcom you’ve seen a hundred times but never actually watched.

Your flip phone buzzes.

“Found this guy in my bathroom. He wanted to say hi.” Gordon texted you. Along with the message is an image of a small lizard - a whiptail, if your memory is correct.

You smile fondly at the mental image of Gordon chasing it around.

An old memory plays in your head, dredged up by your earlier thoughts.

_ “Why’d you look at him like that? You’re not.. Like  _ that _ , right?”  _

You stop smiling.

A single thumbs up is what you text back. The TV gives another bout of canned laughter.

~~~

You survey Gordon’s small Black Mesa-given apartment - you had just finished moving a cabinet across the room to make way for his new table. A drawer catches your eye - it must have opened during the process.

You move to close it, but a photograph resting among the socks catches your eye. It’s from his college years, maybe late high school. He’s among two other people, one of whom you recognize as Kleiner, the other is a man that you don’t recognize, about Gordon’s age.

They’re dressed up; Kleiner as a zombie, Gordon as a very impassive ghost, and the other man as a vampire.

The sight of the image fills you with a warm feeling and a longing to know everything about Gordon.

You close the drawer.

When the table has been put down and shifted and moved and put down again and shifted one last time, you collapse onto the couch. It’s smaller, but much more comfortable than yours (you can’t feel the springs jabbing into your spine on this one) and you run your fingers over the fabric as you catch your breath.

He hands you a glass of water and your fingers brush for a fraction of a second and you have to keep reminding yourself that what you’re feeling isn’t normal.

It persists, unaware of the grief it brings.

Gordon takes out some fried rice from the day before yesterday and splits it evenly between the both of you. While his back is turned, you put more into his bowl. He doesn’t seem to notice before he nukes them both in the microwave.

The kitchen is small even for one person, the downside to having no roommate. You set down the cutlery and plates and sit at the new table and watch Gordon watch the tupperware containers spin around.

Under the too-bright lights of Gordon’s kitchen, he tells you about stories from work you’ve definitely heard before. It doesn’t matter - you could watch him talk about anything and still pay rapt attention.

“I love you,”

Is what you almost say.

You don’t know why. You even opened your mouth. Why did you do that?

You tell him about the time on your first day where you got so lost you wound up two hours late. He laughs at all the right moments, and you kind of want to cry.

You wash the dishes, scrubbing hard at the stains long stuck. Gordon is listening to the History channel behind you. It’s something about aliens, from the sound of it.

The clock on the oven reads 4:53. You stretch out your arms in long circles and wince at the way they tug. He waves you over, patting the seat next to him on the couch.

Part of you wants to run away, back to the safety and predictability of your own room, but a bigger part of you doesn’t ever want to leave his side.

You sit down next to him. Your legs touch; it’s a small couch. 

  
  


You don’t make a note of it.

You’re in the middle of a joking argument - you’re in favour of aliens coming to Earth within your lifetimes while he tries to form a counter argument instead of dissolving into laughter - when it hits you for the hundredth time that you love him.

It hits you for the hundredth time that you shouldn’t.

You think of what everyone back home would say.

~~~

You’re sitting with him outside. He’s trying to teach you about the different constellations that are visible in this part of the country. Honestly, it just looks like a bunch of unrelated dots to you, but you can’t deny the beauty of it. You can’t really tell what’s the Big Dipper and what’s Venus, but you make impressed noises and try to anyway.

You’re watching him excitedly talk about the physics of space and how it all works when you realize how warm you feel.

It’s late autumn now, and the New Mexico heat has been replaced with a distinct winter chill, but you feel utterly cozy, even.

Again, it plays in your mind.   
“ _ One of those _ .”

… You’re starting to realize it’s easier to push the sting aside. Guilt has become every day background noise, as routine as getting up in the morning. A disconcerting realization.

It’s easier not to think about it. You leave it as a quiet churning of the stomach as you turn your attention back to the stars.

~~~

You love him quietly. You love him in the way you prepare dinner for him when he’s too tired to move. You love him in the way you wash the dishes that have been piling up in his sink. You love him in the way you tell him about a creature you read up about, or about the bad action movie you saw eleven years ago.

You’ve been spending more time at his place than yours, lately. You compare the walled-off scientist you met to the man who quietly hovers close to you whenever possible. Who remembers small details you tell him for months afterwards. Who gives you advice and company when you’re stuck on a problem.

You don’t expect anything. He’s a scientist with a  _ PhD  _ at _ 27 _ , you’re.. You.

Not to mention the obvious.

~~~

You’re at a supermarket in the closest town to Black Mesa, a small, nigh abandoned thing easily over an hour away. You and Gordon went there initially to stock up on the snacks they don’t carry at Black Mesa, as well as have a look at the board games.

You’ve been in the store for forty-five minutes.

Your cart has seven items.

“We should probably stop loafing around,” you grin, holding up a loaf of bread.

Gordon, once again, completely buckles. You had known he had a well-hidden weakness for absolutely  _ terrible  _ jokes for a while, but you’d never tested it quite like this.

“Stop goofing off,” he scolds, but the meaning is completely lost between the near-tears pricking at his eyes and the fact he can hardly right himself.

“Sorry, Doc, I guess I’ve just got a real  _ snack  _ for it.” you add on, but the exaggerated, joking laughter quickly turns genuine as Gordon almost falls over.

An employee, one that’s almost definitely new judging by the aura of anxiety, confronts you two at the end of the aisle.

“I’m sorry, sirs, but, you two are disrupting the other customers..?” they say, their voice rising with the insecurity that comes with being a teenager telling off adults.

You wipe a few tears from your face and take in a few shaky breaths.

“Yeah, that’s fair, that’s fair.” You stifle another bout of laughter, “We’ll just pay for these quickly and then we’ll be out of your hair.” Gordon nods behind you, the picture of composure save for the way his breath catches occasionally.

All of the items in the cart are checked out in less than five minutes, and you both are soon on your way.

Gordon is in the passenger seat, wiping his glasses free of dried tear stains with the microfiber cloth that came with his glasses case. His breathing is mostly evened out, now, but a smile wider than you’ve ever seen before is still visible on his face.

You stare at the road in silence for a few minutes.

“I guess you could say…” You start.

“Don’t.” A hand flashes quickly beside you.

“I’m a real…”

“No. Stop that.”

“ _ Fungi _ .” you finish, and you’re not sure whose grin is wider.

You can almost physically  _ feel  _ Gordon’s glare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahh i hope you liked it!! :-) let me know what you think!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi i added a bunch to the previous chapter - if you haven't read that recently, please do so!  
> i'm sorry this took so long, i hope you enjoy it!

You only notice it when a security guard points it out.

“Hey, Freeman - any idea where Calhoun went to? You two’ve been joined at the hip lately, I figured if anyone’d know, it’d be you.”

It makes you pause. (For the record, yes, you did know, and he was cleaning his dorm.)

You’ve never really considered yourself a people person. Being around too many people gives you an itchy, restless feeling, and you’ve been known to disappear for days on end, sitting in your room, delving deep into whatever academic rabbit hole you’ve read yourself into.

Barney is different, an exception to the rule you’ve had all your life. You’re not sure why.

The remark drifts again to the forefront of your mind as the week progresses. When you go on walks with Barney, you find yourself inches apart from him. Your hands would be touching if he didn’t end up putting them in his pockets. You constantly and consistently seek him out when your breaks line up.

Last week, on the first solo excursion you’d had in a month, you felt so distracted and out of place, that you had bought a table much larger than you intended. It stands now outside of your room, out of place, as if to mock you.

One time, you actually found yourself  _ looking forward _ to clocking out so you could watch a movie with him, something that would be unthinkable even just two months ago.

It’s strange.

You’re at a crossroads. You feel better physically, undoubtedly, and the bags under your eyes are lighter than you can ever remember them being. You’ve caught yourself more than once about to delve down another rabbit hole when it’s already far too late, and only stopped because of actual plans you had for the next day.

Still. It’s change, and you’ve never been very good with it.

You’ve worn the same clothes for years, relishing the familiar smell and worn-down seams. You keep buying the same soda, even after they changed their formula for the worse and hiked the prices up. You’re very firmly a creature of habit.

Are those parts of yourself, ones you thought intrinsic to your being, now lost forever due to… what, your  _ emotions  _ changing?

Hm.

As an experiment, on a day off with nothing planned, you intend to spend the entire day alone. You’ve been doing this your entire life - it should be no challenge to slip back into old habits, to prove you’re still the same Gordon.

It’s unsettling to think that overworking, the very thing you’ve prided yourself on and built your life around, is a part of yourself that you could lose.

For this occasion, you’ve specifically saved a thick-looking stack of papers detailing everything about the sorts of crystals you’ll be testing soon. It’s optional research for something mundane, but it’s best to be as prepared as you can be.

You wake up at nine, drink some water, have a small breakfast, and settle in for what will presumably be a long day of researching.

You make it to about lunchtime before you instinctively look at the clock, realize it’s been too long since you’ve eaten, and catch yourself wondering about Barney. Has he eaten yet?

_ That’s not my concern right now _ , you tell yourself. You have a glass of water and a granola bar, and sit back down. 

This time, you continue on until it’s dark and your stomach’s rumbling distracts you from your reading. You blink a few times until your eyes are able to properly focus on the world around you. The clock near you reads 6:42 pm.

You expect to feel the usual pride of a day well-spent in the company of knowledge, not letting yourself be distracted by anything. If one of your old professors were here, they would surely praise your tenacity.

You don’t feel anything.

The walls of your room suddenly feel very large, and the shadows very dark. The air isn’t filled with a warm companionable silence, or a quietness that comforts you after a long day, it’s just… silence. Cold and uninviting.

A feeling you haven’t felt in years takes its place, one you’ve worked hard to banish entirely.

Loneliness.

You know why, really. This is the first day in almost three months you’ve spent entirely alone.

You’re not sure what to do.

Emotions are impermanent, you remind yourself. It’s all chemicals reacting to stimuli, or lack thereof. You just need to focus on your work.

It doesn’t make you feel any better.

You want to call Barney, ask if he wants to take a walk with you or watch something, but…

Has he noticed your change in behavior, like that other security guard did? Is he glad for a day without you? Does he feel smothered by you?

You realize your hands are sweating. A physical reaction to emotions.

You stand up and wipe them on your pants - no, no. This sort of thinking won’t get you anywhere. You’re just being ridiculous.

A buzzing interrupts you - you’re not sure what to think of the excited, involuntary thrill you feel when you realize who it is.

_ Barney Calhoun, 7:02 PM _

_ Spaghedddy and meatballs!!!!! _

_ [IMG] _

  
  


_ You, 7:03 PM _ _   
_ _ *Spaghetti. _

_ Looks good. _

_ Barney Calhoun, 7:03 PM _

_ Ya super tasty:) what r u having? _

_ You, 7:04 PM _

_ [IMG] _

_ Leftovers. _

_ Barney Calhoun, 7:05 PM _

_ Jesus doc, looks anemic _

_ When they talk abt brain food they dont mean stuff that looks like a brain lol _

_ Want me 2 bring u some Spaghetti? _

_ You, 7:05 PM _

_ Yeah. _

You’ve sent the text before you can even think.

You rub at your brow, though it does nothing to alleviate your burgeoning headache. You’re in the process of downing some water when your phone buzzes again.

_ Barney Calhoun, 7:12 PM _

_ Shit _

_ [IMG] _

He’s dropped the tupperware onto his floor. The noodles are everywhere.

It’s a disaster.

You save the image for posterity.

_ Pasta-terity. _

You consider sending him that as a response.

...It would be best not to open the floodgates.

_ You, 7:12 PM _ _   
_ _ Lol. _

_ Barney Calhoun, 7:14 PM _

_ Yeah yeah yuck it up _

_ Barney Calhoun 7:14 PM _   
_ Want 2 get pizza instead? Its friday afterall lol _

_ You, 7:14 PM _   
_ If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you planned this. _

_ Pizza sounds fine, though. _

_ Barney Calhoun, 7:15 PM _

_ :P ya caught me _

_ Meet at tonys in 15? _

_ You, 7:14 PM _

_ Sure. _

15 minutes, and Tony’s was 5 minutes away.. You have time to read a little more.

You don’t hear the knock at your door 25 minutes later.

Instead, you hear a “You coming?” directly right behind you 27 minutes later, and you almost keel over right then from the shock of it.

Barney laughs apologetically and you two make your way to the restaurant together.

You catch a lizard in your bathroom that night and send him the photograph. Did he laugh?

It doesn’t matter, you know this.

Still. The thought is nice.

~~~

It finally hits you when you’re on break, sitting at a table with him.

_ Oh. _

You’re both sitting at a table. You’re tearing through a research paper, while he’s reading about the  _ Fresno Nightcrawlers _ , his favourite creature of the week.

You look at him, as if to confirm your theory.

_ I’m in love with him. _

It’s a realization that you sort of expected would shake you, at least somewhat, but it firmly settles in your mind as something that just  _ makes sense _ . It makes sense that you love Barney, just like it makes sense that wormholes exist, or that when you kick a ball it moves.

You have a reputation for being somewhat.. Dull. Boring.

You don’t show your emotions externally in a way that most people would readily understand, and you can count on both hands the amount of people you’ve ever hugged (even fewer were hugs  _ you  _ initiated).

People who don’t know you tend to think of you as unfriendly, at worst unfeeling. You know there are multiple people who you’ve accidentally rejected due to your unintentionally prickly nature.

While you’re not good with people, you know how you’re perceived.

For once, though, you actually have to make a conscious effort to remain stony-faced. Your heart leaps into your throat as he furrows his eyebrows and inspects his stitches. Instinct you can’t remember ever feeling before tugs your lips upwards into a fond smile.

  
  


Hastily, you return to your notes. Something about causal fermion systems..?

The words blur together as your mind has fully disengaged from the material now, but you drag your eyes along for a few more lines in a futile attempt to try and reabsorb yourself.

You stretch a few moments later, cracking several vertebrae against the hard plastic chair, in the process discovering a squished snack bar from who knows how long resting in your lab coat pocket.

You munch on it as you try to collect your thoughts.

Here’s what you know about the situation.

  1. You are in love.
  2. You are in love with a man.
  3. You don’t know what to do.



You are deeply unused to this. You’ve lived your life mostly in the predictable and impersonal tower of academia, surrounded by piles of paper and due dates and, later, by the few colleagues that have withstood you long enough to actually get to know you.

Even early in life you spent your life in your room, researching and experimenting and studying enough to make your next goal. Whether that was due to a from-birth love of research, or a coping mechanism stemming from your lack of ability to make friends, you’re not sure. You’ve made a conscious effort not to dwell on it.

For years, your life was this; study enough to get good grades and make everyone proud. Study enough to get a scholarship, to live on your own. Study enough to pass with flying colours. Study enough to get a job.

There are no rulebooks, no guidelines, no concrete research you can do with something so volatile and unstable as love. 

You know nothing has truly changed between now and five minutes ago, before you came to this realization.

It feels worlds apart.

It nags at you as you continue with your day. It lies dormant like a snake, lashing out in a volatile mixture of anxiety and happiness when you realize how much of your schedule has been changed to fit his, when he comes over uninvited and your reaction is only an exasperated fondness.

It shows itself fully when he sits next to you and you can feel the heat radiating off of him. A dangerous thing, something that says “one wrong move and you’ll have messed this up.”

Has he always sat so close to you? Are you just hyperaware of his presence?

It’s colder than it should be when he leaves.

~~~

On a whim, you invite him out with you on an excursion. You’ve made a foray onto the internet, dusting off your old Commodore Amiga (all you used it for previously was to play  _ Doom _ ) to indulge in an interest you don’t often get to - astronomy.

Tonight, as you’ve been looking forward to, is the day of a lunar eclipse. You’ve brought your telescope and all its many lenses out from your closet. It’s time.

You’d run into him on your way out, and extended him an offer before he could continue away.

He smiled big in a way that makes you feel something foolish, and you two went outside. You traveled further than you would normally, in order to get a good view of the sky, one untarnished by light pollution.

It’s...

Kind of disappointing, actually. The eclipse isn’t super visible. You must have missed the prime time by a couple of minutes at most by the time everything had been set up.

It felt like a waste to go back inside, though - you brush it off.

The silence extends between you two. Some crickets chirp, acting out the cliche.

On your second whim of the day, you offer to teach him a little about the stars.

Some of the myths are definitely a little off, and there’s a reason you’re always a student, not a teacher, but he tries his best to pay attention anyway.

It’s not something he’s particularly interested in, but you know he’s trying his hardest.

That thought, the thought of him  _ trying  _ to be interested, in him knowing it’s special to you and trying to understand, in him listening to what you have to say, makes it dangerously easy to stay out into the wee hours of the morning. You’re startled out of your warm, comfortable companionship when you notice the sky beginning to lighten.

For the first time ever, you’re late.

The thought strikes a jolt of fear and discomfort into you, but even just the memory of the night before makes you want to smile like a lovesick fool. Maybe you are one. Imagine that.

You accidentally overfill your coffee mug and stain Eli’s shirt.

_ You’re definitely a fool of some sort _ , you think to yourself as you scramble to get paper towels.

You pay no mind to Eli’s knowing but gentle smile as he asks you if you’re feeling alright, you look a bit  _ distracted _ .

~~~

You lay awake the night after your shopping trip. You rub your face again, careful not to press on your eyes too much (Kleiner mentioned about how that makes your vision worse.)

Your smile to yourself at the memory of the day and try not to pay attention to the thing fluttering in your chest like a trapped bird.

_ It’s all chemicals _ , you remind yourself.  _ Calm down _ .

Once again, it proves futile. On the scarce occasion you had attempted to read a novel you had put it down a few chapters in, saying how unrealistically the characters had acted.

How embarrassing.

You sit up in bed.

You should do something.

Nodding to yourself, you start making a plan.

~~~

“Eli? I was wondering if I could possibly get some advice from you.” you text him the next day.

“?” he texts back.

You delete and re-type your messages for a few minutes, internally grimacing. It’s quite obvious, but you eventually decide on, “How did you and Azian start dating?”

“I had to be honest with her about how I felt,” he answers, “I wanted to make her as happy as she makes me.”

You’re thinking this over, internalizing it, when he responds again.   
“Why do you ask? ;)”

The little face makes you flush. Could he suspect what you really mean?

“I thought that it was obvious,” you reply skirting around the topic. “More importantly, you’ve met me, Eli; I’m not exactly what you would call an emotionally available person. Do you have any advice?”

He sends you a paragraph or so of information after a few minutes, and you make a few bullet points in a spare notebook, in your tried-and-true studying method. (You decide to hide it as soon as you’re done.)

“Anyway, I need to go. Good luck with Barney, Gordon, tell me how it goes!” he ends off with.

“Thank you, Eli.” You reply, happy that it was a success.

“Wait”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i really hope you liked it!! gordon is so much fun to write.. i really hope i captured him well :-)  
> let me know what you think!! :-)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI so. this chapter is over 8,000 words, or quadruple the length of each of the other chapters. i just got really carried away, i really hope you like it!  
> also, i added a small scene to the end of the last chapter; you don't have to read it, but something at the end of the chapter won't really make sense without it.  
> i hope you enjoy! :-)

It’s Wednesday, a few weeks after you went shopping with Gordon.

You’re with Kleiner, mulling around in his office in lieu of actually doing anything important.

He sighs after having to guide your wandering hands away from the cup containing his collection of novelty pencils for the fifth time in half an hour. He resolves to instead put the cup across the room, next to his collection of laminated Lolcat memes.

“What is it, Barney?” he says, perhaps a bit exasperated. “Is this about Gordon?” he adds. While his expression would remain the same to someone unused to him, you can see the faintest hint of a wry smile.

“What?” you splutter. “No! No. It’s not. Just… wondering how you’ve been, that’s all.”

He hums, and you detect a note of amusement in his voice. “I see. You’ve been wondering how I've been doing, and that’s why you’ve been hanging about like a neglected stray, systematically harassing my stationery?”

You don’t respond. Despite the fact you’ve averted your eyes, you can still feel his gaze on the side of your face.

“Barney.” he says again after a few moments, “If you’re wondering about Gordon’s birthday, you only have to ask.”

Again, you don’t respond, embarrassment temporarily restricting your ability to speak. He’s sniffed you out, found out why you were really here, though perhaps that’s less of an achievement than you thought.

“You know, you’ve spent more time with him than I over the past few weeks.” Kleiner continues on, unfettered by your lack of response.

“I know,” you say, breaking your silence out of desperation, “but you’ve known him for  _ years,  _ and I want to make sure I get him something he’ll actually  _ like _ .”

“If it’s from you, I’m sure he’ll love it.” Kleiner replies, finality in his voice. The surety of it almost makes you believe it - the doubt still pricks at the back of your mind, though.

“But--!” You start to protest, but you’re cut off by his expression.

“No buts. Now, can you make yourself useful and bring me that stack of papers? I have some work to be doing.”

You sigh, but oblige anyway. There’s still a little two weeks until Gordon’s birthday, you have time.

~~~

“So, Barney, you want me to pick out a gift for Gordon for you?” Eli says over lunch later that day.

You wince. That’s not  _ exactly  _ how you would’ve said it, but..

“He’s been like this all day, Eli.” Kleiner replies, ignoring you entirely, “He was pacing around my office so much I thought he’d wear the floor away!”

Eli laughs at that. “I remember my first time picking out a gift for Azian,” he says. “I was almost as nervous as you are now!”

“It’s not like that!” You interject, to no avail.

Kleiner changes the subject, “How is her new project going, by the way? I overheard quite some talk that she’s angling for another grant.”

“She is, and she has a good chance of getting it, too, if I do say so myself!” Eli’s eyes sparkle at the opportunity to talk about his wife. They immediately jump into a discussion ripe with jargon and terminology you couldn’t begin to guess at definitions for, occasionally making snippy comments guessing whether those fools at Aperture would steal  _ this  _ project, too.

You sigh as you push your noodles around the paper plate with your fork. What were you going to do about Gordon’s gift?

There’s the fact that he can never seem to find any pens or pencils, but that would be kind of an awful gift.  _ Oh, here, you’re my best friend, I got you a 20-pack of pens for your birthday _ . Yeesh.

Part of you is a little tempted to get him a kit of sea monkeys or something - he’s mentioned always wanting some at the book fair as a little kid, but never being able to afford them. Again, though, that’s not  _ personal _ , not what you’re looking for. Besides, it’d be kind of weird to get him pets as a gift. Knowing him, he’d stay up for three straight days checking and rechecking every parameter, making sure the environment is enriching enough. He needs less on his plate, not more.

You frown. Your brain seems to be completely absent of any good ideas whatsoever. Every time you think of something you cast it aside for one reason or another. Of course it’s not going to be simple, you knew this from the start.

Still.

You can’t deny how much you want to find the perfect gift for him. That thought summons memories of times Gordon has smiled at you, and you shake your head slightly in an attempt to banish them.

You sigh, and ignore Eli and Kleiner’s shared look of amusement.

Footsteps approach your table, and all three of you look up. Gordon is there, holding his own tray, a couple of tacos on it. His expression is neutral, as usual, but he looks tired, with bags under his eyes that seem slightly heavier than usual. You try not to dwell on your urge to ask him if he’s okay, if he’s sleeping alright. Though he’s gotten better with it recently, you’re not sure his tendency to get so wrapped up in his research he loses sleep will ever truly leave him.

“Hey, Gordon,” everyone choruses in unison. He sits next to Eli, across from you and to the left, immediately tucking into his lunch. A few vegetables spill onto the tray as he grabs a taco, and he pulls a face and stuffs them back in. He’s always been particular about not wasting any food.

Eli and Kleiner exchange that same amused glance, and you realize with a pang of shame that you’ve been caught looking at Gordon again. “Suddenly, I need to use the bathroom.” Kleiner says, and Eli nods and follows him.

The silence between the two of you is stifling, though you’re not sure if it’s just in your head. Gordon certainly looks unbothered, by the way he’s devouring his food. You very carefully don’t look at him for longer than needed, cowed, and push away any usual pangs of worry about if he’s eating enough.

The energy between you two feels strange, an almost expectant feeling crackles in the air. There have been a few moments like this lately, in addition to the fact that he’s seemed.. Different, somehow. Not in any way that matters, but he’s invited you over more frequently and seemed more hesitant to leave.

The thought of what it could mean is well-trodden for you; you wonder once more what other people would think in an attempt to beat back your racing heart, but you know it’s futile to try and stifle it completely.

Still. You’ve harbored feelings for the man for months, now (something you’re only recently willing to admit), but it seems almost...  _ feasible,  _ no longer just something you berate yourself for daydreaming about. You just hope you’re not terribly misreading something. You’d  _ like  _ to think you have a firm read on Gordon, but you never really know.

Eli and Kleiner certainly have their own ideas of what’s going on, at least.

Is it that obvious? You suppose some of the scientists have been eyeing you rather strangely recently...

You’re thankful that Eli and Kleiner seem amused at the very worst, though. While it’s deeply embarrassing, it’s not upsetting like it would be if they were disapproving.

Gordon continues eating, oblivious to your mental turmoil. Your face feels hot, and your shirt collar sticks uncomfortably to the back of your neck.

You try and think of anything else.

“So..” You begin, clearing your throat when it comes out much higher than you intended. Involuntarily, you give your hands a small shake, as if clearing them, too. “Your birthday’s coming up, yeah?”

He looks up at you, and nods once. His eyebrows are slightly furrowed as if he’s trying to puzzle what you’re getting at. He’s always been very good at figuring out what people want, something you learned early on in your friendship with him.

“Anything, uh.. Anything you want, in particular you want? For your birthday, I mean?” It’s best to just come straight out with it, you decide. No use in stalling when Gordon would cotton on quickly.

He shoves the last pieces of food into his mouth messily, freeing up his hands. He’s got a little bit of lettuce stuck to his cheek. 

“You don’t have to get me anything, Barney. Your company is more than enough.”

While your heart does a flip at that (has he been getting more open about this lately?), it’s not a very useful answer.

“I’m definitely going to get you something, Gordon, c’mon! What kind of a friend would I be if I didn’t?” you say, lightheartedly.

He starts a response several times, a peculiar look on his face, but after a few moments he looks down to his tray, seeming to be at a loss for words. You’re not sure what to make of it; you push the leftover sauce around on your plate.

Before the silence has a chance to stretch on painfully, Eli and Kleiner return.

“You’re not pestering Gordon too much, are you?” Eli says, goodnaturedly.

While the two have long since finished their lunches, they sit down again, looping you and Gordon into a conversation about plans for the next few weeks.

Your watch beeps shrilly, taking you out of the conversation.

“Aw, shoot. I’ve gotta head out, Otis needs me to cover his shift. See you guys!” You say, dumping your tray out, and half-jogging to your post. At least the quiet nothingness of the shift will provide the perfect opportunity to get some brainstorming about Gordon’s present done.

~~~

  
“IT’S GETTING AWAY, HEADING TO SECTOR 2B! GET AFTER IT, BARNEY! I CAN HEAR IT MOVING!” someone yells from the floor below.

There is a rat loose in the vents.

There is a very small, very fast rat loose in the vents.

You are currently trying to capture the very small, very fast rat loose in the vents.

It rounds a corner, and the vent pounds ominously under your dusty hands and sore knees.

You’re crawling as fast as you can after the thing, being the only person willing and ready enough to actually chase it. It had hopped into a vent whose cover you’d forgotten to replace after using it to race Gordon into Kleiner’s office.

Oops.

The shaft creaks underneath you again, your stomach dropping in time with the noise. You’ve been through these dozens of times, but are they capable of supporting you when you’re going so fast? Your mental map is scrambled after the frantic chase, you’re not entirely sure where you are in the building, if these are new shafts or old.

The rat stops in front of you suddenly, sending you almost careening into it with your momentum. Now’s your chance!

You lunge for it, all your previous worries of “can they drop their tail” and “what if it has rabies” forgotten in the thrill of the moment.

The bolts on the vent cover groan underneath you, and desperate regret fills your mind as you feel them give way, followed by a gasp as a loose piece of metal slices into your palm.

You plummet ten feet down, rat held safely in both hands, as you crash painfully onto the table.   
This room was definitely occupied, judging by the startled gasp behind you.

Before anyone can speak, the door slams open, revealing a panting security guard, the same one who had been shouting encouragements (and occasionally curses) the entire time.

“Did you get it?” she wheezes.

You sit up tentatively, stopping halfway when it gets too sore. You’re pretty sure there’s going to be pencil impressions in your back for the rest of the day. You give a thumbs up with one hand, clutching the rat gently with the other. She comes over and takes the rat from you, gentle expertise in her movements.

“It’s kinda cute, huh?” she says. Her eyes dart to your hand. You hadn’t realized how badly you’d cut it, but pain and blood thrumming from it with every heartbeat.

“You should probably get that looked at. Thanks, though, Barney, I owe you one!” The security guard pats you on the back once and heads out, seemingly chastising the rat as she leaves.

“..May I ask for an explanation?” The scientist behind you says. He’s mid-sentence, writing something on the whiteboard that looks very complicated.

“Rat. In the vents.” You say simply. You try to stand up and, yeah, ow, that hurts way too much right now. Still, you force it, and sway slightly.

“Sorry to disturb you. Sir.” you apologize, self-conscious. It occurs to you just how dusty you are, undoubtedly smudged all over with miscellaneous dirt and grit.

You slightly hope it covers your name tag enough to anonymize you out of getting written up, though you recognize this scientist as one of Kleiner’s friends, so it’s not very likely to happen anyway. 

You hobble out the door, giving one last apologetic nod to the scientist. He blinks at you, and you catch sight of him whipping out what looks like a phone just before you leave.

Standing still a few feet away from any windows into labs (thankfully, you recognize this place as a few turns out of Sector C), you attempt to take stock of your current state, cataloguing your aches and pains.

In the midst of deciding whether the wound on your hand is more of a cut or a slash and whether you should get a tetanus shot for it just in case, Gordon almost bowls you over. He’s panting, slightly disheveled from where he had clearly been running.

You start badly, wincing as the sudden movement makes your head spin with pain.

You can see him signing something, but it takes a second for your eyes and brain to cooperate enough to understand what he’s saying.

“..told Kleiner about you falling from the vents, something about a rat, that cut looks bad, are you alright?”

Word spreads fast in Black Mesa, it seems. The shame at falling is quickly replaced with concern when you realize how openly worried Gordon looks, eyebrows knit together. You try not to meet his intense, questioning stare.

Your hand still hurts. You focus on that, instead.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m alright, I just .. Need a sit down. Maybe a glass of water.” you tell him, trying to assuage any worries.

He remains unconvinced.

You can’t see his signs, but he starts to guide you in the direction of the small medical station room a few halls down, his arm over your shoulder to steady you.

You take your steps slowly and carefully, trying not to focus on the contact between you two and failing.

You feel hot, almost uncomfortably so, but it’s still a disappointment when he pulls away after sitting you down on the small cot. He hands you some tissues to stem the bleeding as he fetches everything else.

“Sorry for giving you a scare, Gordy.” You say. You really do feel bad, now that your thoughts are starting to come back to you. Gordon seems really upset.

“I was really worried about you, Barney.” He replies with one hand, the other procuring some rubbing alcohol and cotton balls from a cabinet. Your heart twinges at that.  _ That’s what normal friends do, it doesn’t mean anything _ , your brain tells you.

You attempt to reassure him. There’s no need for him to worry about you, you can take care of yourself; you always have, and there’s more important things for him to be doing right now. “You know me, Gordon, practically indestructible. I’m fine, give me that.” You make a motion for the rubbing alcohol.

He looks even more worried than before.

You panic a little, “Seriously, I’m okay! You don’t have to worry about me. You should get back to your lab, they’re probably wondering where you’ve been.”

Gordon pulls up a chair to sit in front of you. He unscrews the lid to the rubbing alcohol with slightly shaky hands. His hands falter before he can start to apply any to the cotton balls.

“I’ve been told I need to be more honest, so please forgive me if this sounds strange, but,” He pauses for a moment, looking down, gathering his thoughts, “Barney, you don’t have to try and reassure me. I want to help you.”

“What?” The twinge in your chest is back again, this time bigger. Emotional honesty isn’t what you expected from falling through a vent. “It’s.. It’s alright, though. I’m fine.” You’re fine.

“You’ve been bleeding this whole time.”

“It’s just blood. No biggie.”

“Look.” He looks slightly more upset now. “Please just be careful. I care about you, Barney.”

You look down, pretending you can’t feel your vision getting progressively blurrier.

Thankfully, Gordon doesn’t reply. He takes your hand and starts tending to the wound on your palm. You wince as it stings, but you make a conscious effort not to let your expression change too much. While he cleans your hand, you look anywhere but him. You’re not sure you could handle that right now.

It strikes you again that you love him, in a way that’s familiar but no less strong.

You catch the sign for, “Sorry.” out of the corner of your eye, and you nod in acknowledgement.   
“S’alright.”

After a few minutes of silence thick with an unidentifiable feeling, he finishes checking your wounds, not counting the bruises definitely forming on your knees. You have one on your hand, that’s the biggest one, as well as several scrapes on your head and arms from banging them in the vent shaft. A quick test with a flashlight and some questions showed you don’t have any kind of brain trauma.

The wound on your hand was long, but thankfully not very deep. Gordon presses a couple of band-aids to it (it’s atom-print, how cute) and nods once in confirmation.

“You’re free to go.” he signs, screwing the cap back onto the lid, and tossing the rest of the cotton balls into the trash.

“Thank you, Gordon.” you pause, dithering for a moment, “Means a lot to me.”

Another pause.

“Can I..?” You start.

He nods.

You loop him into a hug, careful to mind your sore areas.

He’s stiff and straight as a rod, but he doesn’t pull away. You’re hoping you’re not imagining the way he relaxes minutely.

A few moments pass, and you hope he can’t hear your racing heartbeat.

Eventually, you drop your hands, hoping you didn’t get anything on his lab coat.

“Sorry, I’m kinda dusty.” you remark, trying to break the silence.

“I don’t mind.” Gordon signs back. A pang of fierce something flashes through you, almost sending you close to tears again.

You’re about to leave when you catch a flash of motion in your peripheral vision. You turn around to see Gordon trying and failing to sign something, hands fidgeting slightly.

“What’s up?”

“I found a box of old games.” He says. To anyone who didn’t know him it would be a non sequitur, but you understand his intention.

“Yeah, alright. Does seven work?”

He nods, and you start the journey back home . Luckily, you don’t have much left of your shift, a half hour at the most.

Besides, you think bitterly, if anyone tries to make you finish the last dregs of your shift, you’ll just bleed on them.

~~~

A gasp escapes you involuntarily as the water rushes over you. You stand there for a few moments, relishing the soothing warmth of it. Your arms ache when you eventually move them almost three minutes later. You have to skirt over your cuts and tender areas, gritting your teeth as you rinse them clean, too.

Feeling all of the grime that had been clinging to your skin and hair splatter down the drain is incredibly satisfying, but you still feel nothing but relief as you step out of the shower to dry off, knowing that a chance to fully relax is in sight.

You wonder if Gordon is home by now, too. Has he eaten dinner yet?

Immediately, you change into your pyjamas, getting dressed as quickly as possible and almost catapulting yourself into bed.

A book is already on your nightstand. You’d been meaning to read it for a few months now, but you’ve never remembered when you had the free time.

It’s supposed to be a ‘deep dive’ into Black Mesa’s shady past, but it consists almost entirely of mysteries nobody has ever even heard of before, made up to sell the book.

In other words, it’s exactly the kind of thing you like.

You’re halfway through the third chapter, getting into the supposedly well-known mystery of  _ ‘where Black Mesa get their water from when they’re in a desert’ _ , when your watch beeps and you reluctantly stretch and get dressed.

Your soreness is much less prominent now that you’ve rested, but they still ache with even the memory of all the exercise you did.

(A part of you wonders if you’ve caught some kind of rat disease, but that’s  _ highly improbable _ , or so Kleiner would tell you.

Right?)

You arrive outside Gordon’s door at 7:03. He’s wearing a slightly oversized shirt with a faded periodic table on it. You feel less self-conscious about your own outfit, something chosen for its worn seams so as to be gentler on your injuries.

He greets you as you enter, and you settle down in front of his old computer.

He’s moved it out into the main area from his bedroom. You’re not really a computer guy, but even you know it’s really old, older than the stuff they use in the rest of the complex by many years. It looks like it’s spent all of that time collecting dust.

Knowing him, it probably lay unused in a closet until he unearthed it recently for some reason or another.

Gradually, you migrate to the couch and watch him play instead, citing your various pains and aches.

He looks concerned, but doesn’t push it. 

He gets stuck at one part and your backseat gaming doesn’t seem to be helping, so he joins you on the couch and you both decide to flip through some TV channels, instead.

A few channels deep, he suddenly sits a little straighter, a miniscule amount only noticeable if you’re both sitting next to him and paying attention to him.

You make a questioning noise and tilt your head at him, prompting him to go on.   
  


“It’s a little silly..” He signs, uncharacteristically sheepish, “I heard this channel was having a special, they’re rerunning this old Carl Sagan interview, and it had entirely slipped by mind until just now.”

“Yeah, we can watch it, I don’t mind!”

“Really? It might not be particularly interesting, is all.”

“That’s fine! I like the guy well enough, I’d be happy to watch it so long as you forgive me for not understanding everything. Didn’t know you were a fan of his, but I guess it makes sense.”

“If you’re sure..” Though his slower signs and tilted eyebrows give the impression of reluctance, you notice his shoulders are hunched in the way he only does when he’s truly excited about something.

His hands tug at the hem of his shirt as he watches the interview, eyes paying rapt attention to the screen. The light from the slightly grainy interview casts a light on his face. You try not to stare, and have to tear your eyes from him a few times.

“It’s a little bit embarrassing, but, when I was younger, I was completely infatuated with him. When the other kids at school would talk about celebrity crushes, he was my first thought..” Gordon signs during a lull in the interview. He’s still paying attention to the screen, his eyes not leaving it for a moment; something you’re thankful for, as you couldn’t stifle your expression in time.

You look anywhere but him, your heart pounding in your ears.

“Yeah?” You reply, voice carefully neutral. This feels significant, like one wrong move could ruin everything. “I guess I can get that. Turtlenecks are a good look on him.”

His eyes flit to you for just a moment, revealing nothing. You put all of your energy on staring at the screen, hoping and praying that your face doesn’t reveal your emotions. 

“Yeah.” Gordon signs again.

Your pounding heart and racing thoughts drown out what Carl is saying (you were long lost before this, and you send him a quick mental apology). You’ve completely detached from the interview, focusing solely on that comment. What does this mean? Why did he tell you that? Could he..?

By the time the interview faded slowly into its credit sequence, you still haven’t calmed down. You sit there for a few moments even after the final names have scrolled by, not moving lest you somehow shatter the moment.

Gordon stretches, breaking the spell. You check your watch; 11:43. 

“Wow, it’s gotten real late, Gordon! I’m sorry for staying so long, I know you’ve probably got something important to do tomorrow.” You apologize.

“It’s alright. I enjoyed spending time with you.” He waves off your apology.

You say your goodbyes, and head back to your dorm. Somewhere in the back of your mind, a gift idea is brewing.  _ The  _ gift idea.

You text Eli and Kleiner once you get back, excitement renewing your energy. You stay up late, planning and ordering and double-checking everything.

If you accidentally dozed off at lunch the next day, it was worth it.

~~~

On the morning of Gordon’s birthday, you wake bright and early, unusual for you. To be honest, you hardly slept the night before - you can’t believe your luck in getting his gifts.

You meet up with Eli and Kleiner in the lab before Gordon arrives.

“Have you got everything ready?” Kleiner asks, referring to your scheming on the night of the Carl Sagan interview. You both nod. Almost every night since then has involved at least one more phone call between the three of you, planning and fleshing out everything you all need.

Footsteps alert you of Gordon’s presence - you all scatter, pretending to look normal. You, naturally, flee through the nearest vent, while they crack open notebooks to random pages.

At lunch, he’s sitting at a table, eating lunch while reading something.

“Hey, Doc! Happy birthday!” you call to him, both hands conspicuously hiding behind your back. You’ve got gift one of two with you right now - hopefully this will be enough to drive attention away from your plans.

He looks at you, surprised at the ambush. He makes a motion, and you hand it over. Gently, taking off each piece of tape at a time (something that kills you with anticipation), he unwraps his gift.

A smile crosses his face, wrinkling his eyes at the corners, as he looks down on his signed copy of Cosmos.

“Who knew signed copies could be so hard to find?” You say to try and get the attention off of you, “I’m just glad it arrived quickly.”

“Thank you, Barney.” He signs, like he really means it, “I really appreciate this.”   
  


“Aw, heck, you’ll make me blush.” Sheepishly, you rub the back of your neck. You sit down across from him, blinking as light from the window temporarily blinds you.

You eat and pretend not to be looking at him as he cracks the book open (figuratively, of course; he’s very gentle with it), eyes sparkling slightly.

He reads every part of it, including the foreword and the table of contents, before closing the book. He gulps down the rest of his lunch, seemingly stalling, before starting to read the actual contents.

You’re thankful he’s already so engrossed - your lunch is mostly cold before you remember to start eating it.

~~~

You get a text from Eli 45 minutes later - Gordon, with a lopsided and slightly rumpled party hat on, next to Eli, who’s handing him a gift box. You smile at it, ignoring the partly-questioning partly-judging stare of a security guard passing by you.

“Got everything ready?” He texts you.

“yea, just finished adding the last few things this morning.” You confirm, before quickly tucking your phone back into your pocket before Keller can see.

~~~

“Happy birthday, Gordon!” You say, as he enters the door, flanked by Eli and Kleiner. You notice he’s still wearing the party hat.

You’ve decorated your apartment (which was decided on after Eli commented that he had a baby who might eat the decorations, after Kleiner mentioned his pet lizard would probably attack you, and after all three of you agreed that Gordon probably wouldn’t like someone in his apartment without his knowledge) with all of the typical party affairs, save for balloons (“Too loud,” Gordon had told you once.).

You decided on it only being the three of you plus Gordon - inviting tons of people didn’t seem like something he’d be interested in.

Immediately, his eyebrows shoot up.

He falters for a few moments, a smile slowly growing on his face as he takes in the scene.

“We got you some cake, and I tried to make homemade spaghetti bolognese.” You say, proudly.

He looks slightly concerned.

“..Yeah, it didn’t turn out great, so we got some from that place you like near Sector G.”

He looks more relieved.

Kleiner adds, “We brought a copy of Halloween II, too.”

Gordon looks around, observing every detail.

Kleiner and Eli have been planning this apart from you for a little while now, and you joined forces with them after you called them up and told them about your gift ideas.

Gordon had mentioned a few months back about always wanting a surprise party as a kid, but never really having any friends, and that anecdote stuck with the three of you, culminating in this.

“I’m.. not really sure what to say.” His signs are slightly shaky, and he has a watery smile on his face, but his shoulders are hunched in that same happy way.

Everyone smiles at him. “It’s alright, Gordon. As long as you have a good time, that’s all that matters,” Eli says, to which everyone agrees.

“Oh! Before I forget,” you pipe up, (that’s a lie, you have been waiting to give this to him ever since you came up with the idea) and turn to fetch a small envelope, carefully wrapped, from its safe place in your room.

You hand it to him, and he looks at you before opening it, in that same slow, precise way as before.

He slides out a small card. He cracks it open, eyes focusing first on your small attempted doodles, then the words.

He looks at you for a moment, eyes wide.

“Thank you.” he signs.

Your heart feels like it might burst, so you shake off the praise as best as you can. Gordon’s eyes are gleaming slightly, and he rereads the card a few times. Eventually, so as to protect it, he places it back in the envelope and holds it close.

Kleiner’s gift is next; it’s a small keychain of a gnome. When you asked about it, he mentioned it being an in-joke of sorts. You’re not sure you fully understand, but Gordon certainly seems to get the reference. A steely look crosses his face, and he mimes chucking it out for a quick second, but then smiles at Kleiner and thanks him.

Eli gifts him a small scrapbook of photos containing your small group. Peering at them over Gordon’s shoulder, they all seem quite candid, taken at moments where everyone is engrossed in conversation; absently, you wonder in how many you’re looking at him.

Gordon thanks Eli, too, and he’s gotten quiet with happiness. His shoulders are hunched, and he’s fiddling with the hem of his shirt.

The spaghetti bolognese is, admittedly, many, many times better than yours. It’s perfectly tomato-ey, without being too acidic or too artificially sweet. You gulp yours down hungrily, and watch as everyone else savours theirs.

The cake is a small carrot cake - Gordon says that things that are too sweet hurt his teeth, and while you’re not the hugest fan of carrot cake, you can’t deny how good this one is. You all cut yourselves slices, and everyone starts eating theirs as you fiddle with the VCR, trying to get the movie to work.

Eli dims the lights once it starts working and the advertisement music blares loudly (which startled all of you), and you snag your slice as you pile onto your sofa, you and Gordon in the middle, with the other two on either side.

You.. are not the biggest fan of horror. You asked Gordon, once, about his choice of favourite movie - apparently, he’s not a very big fan of horror, either, but he couldn’t figure out how to change the tapes as a child so he watched this movie on repeat for hours. Gradually, it became a comfort in familiarity type of deal for him. He’s never seen the first, or any of its sequels.

Your stomach turns and you look away each time the gore splashes onto the screen, feeling slightly queasy. Occasionally, you spare glances up at Gordon, who looks completely enraptured. He’s signing along to the dialogue in the movie, but still reacting to each plot beat as if it were his first time seeing it.

You huff out a small laugh, and turn your gaze back to the movie - just in time for the biggest splash of blood yet.

You look at the clock - it’s only halfway done.

~~~

Once the movie is over, Eli and Kleiner file out, citing family and pets respectively as their reason for departing. Gordon says sincere goodbyes and thank-yous to them both, before signing something to them you can’t see from your perch on the couch.

The door shuts, and you look at Gordon.

“Are you gonna head home, too?” you ask.

“I thought I’d stay for a little while, if that’s alright.”

“Of course! C’mere, I’ll stop hogging the couch. I’ll clear off the coffee table, do you want anything?”

“No, it’s okay.” he answers, taking a seat on the couch.

Though your trash bag has long since filled up, it’s your roommate’s turn and you’ll be damned if you cave before he does. You cram the paper plates and napkins in, and shut the lid before it explodes out.

You wash your hands, and head over to where Gordon is sitting down.

“Anything you wanna do for the last few hours of your birthday?”

“Not really, no. I..” he trails off, searching for the right words. “Eli told me that I should try and be more honest, and say what I mean. Thank you, Barney. You’re one of my closest friends.”

You’re touched by the sudden display of sincerity from him.

Words get caught in your throat momentarily, but you push them out, regardless, “Yeah, of course, Gordon. You’ve made the past few months enjoyable, like I said in my letter.”

He looks like he wants to say more for a brief moment, but the moment passes. The TV hums in front of you, the coil whine slightly painful in your ears, and you hesitate about taking the remote and flipping it to a channel. It would feel like a shame to disrupt this moment.

“I love you,” almost slips out again. Your own common sense stops you; if he doesn’t feel the same way, you would have made his birthday uncomfortable at the least.

“Anything you want to do at the museum?” you decide on, instead.

“I’m not sure. I think that with you, anything will be fun. I would like to see the dinosaur statues, though.”

“Not the planetarium?”

“That, too.”

~~~

It’s a drive to the museum, but Gordon spends the drive looking through the pamphlet you printed out (unnecessarily, you realized when you came to pick him up and saw him perusing many different blog entries about it), making a mental note of everything he wants to visit. Occasionally you see a flurry of signs out of the corner of your eye, quickly choked out when he remembers you’re driving.

It’s packed when you get there, the parking lot a maze of pedestrians and bad parking jobs. You find a spot and park, narrowly missing a jeep that managed to take up three different parking spaces at once.

Gordon sticks close to you despite being taller by a good few inches, and you lead the way, undeterred by the crowd.

He points out the bronze dinosaur sculpture near the entrance. “It’s the main image on every website I saw!” He remarks, as if it’s a well-known landmark. Passing by the triceratops, you rub one of the horns that has long since been worn to a golden sheen for luck.

There’s a banner swaying in the breeze hanging in front of the door. It’s advertising some attraction or another, a big dinosaur on it.   
“Hey, watch, this.” You say, nudging Gordon gently.

You hop up and slap the banner, gaining a laugh from him (and a few disapproving stares from parents, as their kids try to recreate it.).

There’s a dinosaur animatronic, which he spends a good few minutes ogling. You can almost see the different calculations whirring around his mind on how exactly they pulled it off. The motion is rudimentary at best, but everything is a chance to learn, you figure.

You split from him for a moment, examining the various crystals while he scouts further on ahead at the astronomy exhibits. After a few minutes, you turn around, to see him looking uncomfortably stiff while people rush past him.

Catching his eye, he raises his eyebrows minutely in an unspoken question. You gently shoulder past a few people to get to him, and lead the way to a bench a little ways off, out of the flood of people. You sit with him for a few minutes, and hand him one of two bottles of water he insisted on packing. He takes it graciously, cracking open the lid and downing almost half of it in one go.

Silently, he rubs the hem of his shirt for a few minutes, occasionally taking sips of his water until it’s all gone.

“Y’alright?” You ask, when he seems more relaxed, face neutral rather than slightly pinched with stress.

He nods, “Thank you, Barney.”

“It’s not a problem! Let me know if you need to sit down again, yeah?”

He smiles, ever so slightly.

The two of you stand up, and you act as a way through the swarming crowds. You’ve never been particularly uncomfortable around large numbers of people, but you know that a lot of the scientists (the ones that are friendly to you, anyway) are. Gordon, in particular, has a lot of trouble with them; you’re finely attuned to recognizing the signs he gives when he needs a break by now.

Luckily, he recovers his excitement quickly, undeterred by that bump in the road.

At almost every one of the exhibits his hands are almost a blur, telling you various facts and trivia; many of them are on the signs in front, though those in much simpler words.

It doesn’t make much of a difference to you; your attention isn’t on them, anyway.

At the planetarium, though, he falls still again, this time not borne out of uneasiness. He looks up at the projection screen in awe, as it races the audience among the stars. It looks a little cheesy, honestly, but he seems to be enraptured by it.

He remains quiet even as you pass through the rest of the attractions. When you cast a glance back at him, he looks in deep thought.

You decide to take a rest when a twang of pain in your back gradually makes itself more and more known with the exercise; you had a bad fall when you were a kid, and while it doesn’t usually give you much trouble, you must have pulled something during your fall from the vent.

Heading to McDonald’s, you take his order and play with the paper on the straws, waiting for your order to sound out.

“It was exhibits like the planetarium that got me into STEM in the first place,” Gordon signs to you.

“Yeah?” You’re still absently playing with the paper, tearing it into pieces, but you look at him curiously.

“There was a museum like this one, though a lot smaller, in my hometown. It was free for kids on Tuesdays, and I’d stay there from the time it opened to the time it closed more days than I can count. It made me so curious, figuring out how everything works. Sometimes I’d bring my books and study there. I look back on it now and wonder what the owner must’ve thought, a little kid all alone, though.”

There’s definitely more to that, but you decide not to push it. “From what I’ve seen, you were a cute kid. I’m sure they didn’t mind.”

“Really?” he has a strange look on his face, not unhappy.

“Yeah! Sometimes I wonder if we would’ve been friends as kids; I was never super into science or math or just school in general, though. I’m still kinda surprised all my pals are brainiacs!” you laugh.

You were always berated for your lack of talent or ambitions (the phrase ‘you just need to apply yourself!’ still makes you wince), but you leave that conveniently out.

He smiles, “I’m glad we’re friends now.”

You beam back at him, “Same here, bud!”

A moment passes, then another. Neither of you are looking at each other.

“Hey, Gordo--?”

“Order number 215!” The person at the counter yells out.

“Oh! That’s us.” Your heart is pounding, and you get up as fast as you can, “Just a sec, I’ll get it.” His eyebrows are furrowed as you walk away.

You almost spill the soda on the way back, but you place the tray on the table.

He looks ready to ask something, but you are decidedly not ready for that.

“Yum, looks good!” you say, perhaps unnecessarily, and immediately dig in. It’s exactly what you’d expect from a fast food burger at rush hour, but in the haste of avoiding a conversation it’s delicious.

He eats too, though less messily than you do. Your unspoken question crackles in the air, and you have a creeping feeling that he might suspect what you were going to say.

“Ready?” You ask, hands in pockets, when you’ve both finished. You hardly managed the last of your fries with your churning stomach, but you ate them anyway to keep busy.

He nods, and you make the short walk back to the museum. There’s a meager handful of places left, but you’re intent on making the most out of this trip, at least seeing a few interesting things to put distance between the trip back home and what happened over lunch.

You’re rounding the bend to the last exhibit he wanted to go to, a place free almost entirely from people save a few visitors and employees here and there, when Gordon slowly stops. 

“Barney?” he signs. His sign for your name is also the sign for the colour blue; it was created after one day, he asked your favourite colour. You’d always harbored a fondness for it, and he remarked that it matched your uniform.

_ “That’s the one thing I liked about this place, initially!” _ You’d joked.

You try to bring these thoughts to mind, try and cut off how anxious you feel. It takes everything you have not to quake at the knees.

“What’s up?” you reply, as calmly as you can. If your voice gives ever so slightly, he doesn’t react.

“What were you going to say, earlier?”

You’d be surprised if he didn’t notice your reaction, as much as you try to stifle it.

“I..” Your voice trails off, and you realize your hands are shaking. “I’m sorry, Gordon.” You blink back your emotion. Now that you’ve finally arrived at the moment you’ve thought about for so long, you wish you were anywhere else. Sweat beads on your brow and you feel upset, disgusted at yourself.

You know that he knows. You wish he didn’t.

The sun is setting, and once again it strikes you how perfectly it illuminates his features.

You don’t look.

Footsteps sound, and from the corner of your eyes you can see his shoes. “It’s okay.”

You take a deep breath. It would be embarrassing to cry at all, but especially now, where any child or parent could walk in and see you. What would they think, hurrying past uncomfortably?

“Can we talk about it later?” Any attempt to save face has been disregarded at this point, and you know you’re an open book. You look up at him, and he nods, a concerned look on his face.

Neither of you speak until you’re both back in the car, on the highway. The street lamps are on, and the faint crackling of the broken stereo is the only accompaniment. Tension wraps around your throat, and you manage to wheeze out, “I hope you had a good day today, Doc.”

You catch a nod from his end. He looks thoughtful.

~~~   
  


A desperate part of you hopes that maybe, if you slip by quickly and don’t bring it up, you’ll be able to avoid the consequences. The car ride was silent, and you had time to simmer over what is likely to happen. You’re not hopeful; every past interaction has been written off as friendship by your brain that you, too overeager for something that will never happen, misinterpreted somehow.

You enter the building, crisp night air turning to the dry dustiness of Black Mesa.

“Barney.” Gordon signs again, when you’re close to the tram’s stop. Every other light in the building has been turned off in the same way it does every night to save power.

You brace yourself.

“I’m sorry, again, Gordon. This was meant to be an enjoyable outing, I didn’t mean for it to get... weird, at the end.” You take a breath, “You don’t have to forgive me, and I understand if you don’t but, I’d like to be friends, still.”

Your face is burning, and you can feel the emotions you’ve held back pricking at the corners of your eyes.

He steps forward again, footsteps audible on the linoleum.

“It’s okay, Barney. I’m not mad, or upset.” He steps forward again, “Can you look at me, please? Fully.”

You nod and swallow harshly. His expression is gentle.

“I’m not necessarily experienced at this, so please forgive how it turns out. You’re one of my best friends, and I’m thankful that I’ve known you and spent the past few months with you. And, I’d like to spend the future with you, too, if you’re okay with that.”

You don’t dare to breathe. You keep your eyes trained on his face.

You realize he’s finished speaking only when he looks at you expectantly.

You scramble, “Of course, Gordon, I’d be honored, I- You-?” Your sentence breaks off, choked out by your frazzled brain and racing thoughts.

You can tell where his composure has broken slightly, cracks running through it that betray an equal amount of anxiety to what you’re feeling.

He nods. Three quick motions.

“I love you.”

Your voice has almost totally given out, now, but you give him a genuine, watery smile.

You hug him after getting the smallest of nods.

“Thank you. I love you, too.” You whisper into his shoulder.

The tram ride’s atmosphere is thick, too; this time, with excitement and happiness.

You both decide to go to his place, afterwards; neither of you want to be alone right now. You still have some decorations up at your place, you remark to yourself faintly.

“How old is this frozen pizza?” You call over your shoulder. He turns to you, shrugging.

“It’s frozen.”

“It should probably be fine..” you decide, but you turn the dial on the toaster oven a few degrees hotter than the packaging specifies, just in case.

It comes out spotty and uneven where the pepperoni has caught fire (“Looks great.” he remarked sarcastic but good-naturedly, and you swat at him equally as playfully.), but both of you are so hungry it’s not a dealbreaker.

He picks off the pepperoni from his pizza and, as always, you eat them, relishing the grease. Between the two of you, it gets demolished quickly.

Neither of you want to sleep yet, either. Being on the couch together with the TV droning is a familiar scene, but this time you feel comfortable extending your arm around him, and he leans into your side.

You feel happier than you have, a warm buzz in your chest. Still, a doubt nags at the back of your mind.

“Are.. Are you okay with this?” you’re aware of the fact you’re speaking over the TV, though you know nobody was paying attention to it.

At his questioning look, you elaborate.

“With.. this situation. Us. Being together. Are you sure? I’m not smart like you are, I don’t have a fancy degree or anything,” you start, words tumbling out, “and I don’t want to hold you back from.. Something greater.” The  _ ‘someone’  _ is left silent.

“I wouldn’t choose anybody else. I can’t remember a time I’ve felt happier than when I’m spending time with you, Barney. Are  _ you  _ okay with it? I’m not exactly experienced with interpersonal relationships.”

You nod, “Of course, Gordon! I just,” you bark out a laugh, “I can’t believe this is real. It feels strange that I’m allowed to be this happy.”

He smiles at you fondly, like you’re the only thing that matters.

~~~

Eli and Kleiner find out the next day.

“So.. did anything happen between you and Gordon, Barney?” Eli asks, a knowing smile already present.

In retrospect, you’re not exactly subtle. Before Eli spoke to you, you already saw them look at your and Gordon’s matching smiles and look at each other.

You cough, “Uh, yeah, it did, funnily enough.” More sincerely, you look at them. “Thank you both. It probably wouldn’t’ve happened without you guys.”

“I’m merely glad it happened at all, honestly. It’s been how long, exactly?” Kleiner jokes.

“Oh, be quiet.”

Eli nudges him, “We’re happy for you, too, Barney. I can tell you make each other happy. I’m glad my advice worked!”

“..advice?”

“Did Gordon not tell you?”

You shake your head no.

His eyes glimmer with amusement at the memory, “He called me up one day, after work--” he catches the eye of a coworker who seems to be eavesdropping, and breaks off. “I’ll tell you about it later. Invite that boyfriend of yours over, it’s been a while since we all had dinner together.”

You nod, and exchange a few more words with them before returning to your post.

For the first time in a while, things seem to be going your way. Even just remembering the events yesterday are real makes you smile. Unfortunately, that garners you the attention of a passerby.

“What’s the cheese for, Calhoun? You and Freeman finally get together?” His tone is ribbing, clearly not sincere.

You smile politely, “Yeah, actually.”

He blinks once, then twice, stopped dead in his tracks.

“Oh, uh, that’s-- that’s great. I’m happy for you two.” he coughs once in embarrassment, and you pretend not to notice as he leaves twice as fast as he arrived.

~~~

The next morning, the sun wakes you up. Gordon, a surprisingly heavy sleeper, stays awake despite the rays directly over his face.

To you, he’s never looked better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this has been so much fun to write .. i still can't believe how long it's gotten!  
> gordon likes natural history too because there arent a lot of physics museums in new mexico (none that i could find) and also i feel like he almost certainly had a hardcore dinosaur phase as a kid.
> 
> speaking of museums, i'm sorry if i got anything wrong about the natural history museum! i've never been (i dont even live in america) but i watched a few video tours to try and get it at least kind of right
> 
> the confession scene was written with multiple breaks to drink water because i kept getting embarrassed; "should.. should i give them some space?"  
> this is my first complete multichapter; it might not be much, but i sincerely appreciate each of your comments and kudoses, i've reread each of your comment multiple times :-)  
> i still can't believe i've gotten over 500 hits on this! thank you all so much for everything :-)  
> please let me know what you thought about this!!  
> have a wonderful day <3

**Author's Note:**

> unchanged end notes:  
> HI sorry i havent posted anything in like a million years, i got followed by a deer recently https://imgur.com/a/P7WQGA3
> 
> i wrote most of this at about 3 am last night, realized it wasn't great so i redid it all tonight and now im decently happy with it i think? please let me know your thoughts i really appreciate each and every one of ur comments :-)
> 
> i promise that 'wheels like dandelions passing by' IS gonna get finished! im not gonna abandon it! that's a promise. similarly, i miiight add an epilogue thing to this? not sure. either epilogue or just continuation including a confession scene? let me know if you'd like that :-)
> 
> every comment and every kudos is like one sunflower seed given to a little rat or hamster (me) and it fuels me :-)  
> thank u for reading, i hope u enjoyed!!  
> 


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